The One Rule
by Anzier
Summary: See story for summary. Rated M for graphic depictions of violence and sexual content.
1. Escape From Palaven

**Author's Note: **

I'M BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK! And this is gonna be a doozy, folks. I don't really even have the whole thing planned; I'm just so excited to get it underway that I figure, screw it, it'll solve itself over time! Before reading, there are a few things you should know about this story:

1. There will be graphic depictions of sex, violence, death, murder, mayhem, and possible/probable major character deaths. Squeamish, look elsewhere.

2. This story is set in the same universe as my first story, Powerless, and will refer to certain major events that occurred in that story. While it isn't necessary to read it, you might find yourself understanding a few elements of this one a little better. Elements such as. . .

3. As I said at the end of my other story, it is my firm headcanon that Executor Pallin is Garrus and Solana's father. That is going to be played on (and heavily rationalized) in this story. If you don't like that, or if you just can't work your mind around it, then you're not gonna like a lot of this. A lot of the culture stuff (aside from my explanation for Pallin) is taken directly from the Cerberus Daily News reports, which means they're canon and not made up by me (though some of it is-it's not like the reports were exhaustive, after all).

4. I have a LOT going on in my life and cannot promise regular updates to this story-in fact, I promise the exact opposite: Updates will be far between, possibly even months for some chapters. Rest assured, however, that I will complete what I started, as fast as I can manage-this isn't the last story I have in mind, after all. . .

5. I crave feedback. I feed on it. Kudos and favs are nice and all, but if you want faster updates, NOTHING motivates me more than comments and reviews-feel free to tell me you hate it, just be nice about it is all I ask. Well, that's about it. I hope you enjoy!

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**Summary: **

As the galaxy picks up the pieces five years after the Reaper War, the only place that seems unchanged by the chaos is the crime-ridden space station Omega. Aria T'Loak, de facto ruler of Omega, continues to enforce her one rule with absolute authority: Don't fuck with Aria. Meanwhile, Solana Vakarian gets involved with the enigmatic Archangel, who has returned to Omega to break Aria's one rule-hard. As her bother tries to unravel the mystery behind Archangel's identity, she must decide whether to join in Archangel's increasingly drastic measures to free the station from its criminal roots-though she holds a dark secret of her own. . .

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**Palaven, 2186 CE**

**Solana**

When she was little, Solana didn't believe in monsters. Such things as terrible as boogeymen or wererachni were simply too silly to exist. And even if they did exist, she figured, her father was much scarier than any monster could ever possibly hope to be. She didn't come to believe in monsters until she was older, watching the news of the devastation from the Vallum Blast cycle on every screen on every turian world and network in the galaxy, ceaselessly repeating as though people believed they could see new details if they just watched it enough times. On that day, even though she was on a completely different planet, her father called all the way from C-Sec just to make sure she was safe. That was a year ago. Even though everyone around her was terrified of a terrorist attack on Palaven, she was never scared.

Then the monsters came. And Solana was afraid.

Even though Palaven had some semblance of warning before the Reapers arrived, it made little difference. The Reapers, the real monsters behind all others, appeared without warning and without mercy. Within hours, the green sky above Cipritine was repainted black and orange with destruction. Travel centers were cut off or destroyed outright, preventing evacuations. The might of the galaxy's most powerful military paled in comparison to the Reaper onslaught. Menae was their last, best stronghold against the Reapers. Menae, where Garrus was. If he was still alive.

Her lookout shift was ending soon. From her perch at the top of a children's playground in an abandoned schoolyard, she could see the Reapers destroy her home. Even from a distance of miles, the skyscraper-sized machines made their slow advance, in various directions, stopping only to deal with military resistance like they were flies. Red beams of fire shot from their cores and obliterated everything in their path.

Her omni-tool lit up and beeped. She answered the call. It was from her father. Offworld and most long-distance calls had been rendered impossible.

"Hey, Sol," he said, his voice exhausted. "Everything okay on your end?"

"Yeah," she answered. It was a very loose definition of "okay," but they were still alive and unmolested, at least. "I'm coming in right now. Just waiting for Aldus to relieve me."

"Good. Come find me when you're done. I need to talk to you."

"Be there when I can." She disconnected. Footsteps behind her signaled Aldus' arrival.

"Hey," he said, giving half a wave. "Go get some rest." He turned his gaze from her to the Reapers in the distance. "Shit. They're getting closer, aren't they? I could've swore that big one there," he pointed to the closest Reaper, "was in the Zohess District this morning. Hope this isn't their target."

Solana didn't respond. _The whole planet is the target._

_"They're coming,"_ Garrus had said. _"I don't know when, but probably in the next year or so. You guys have to be ready. The Battle of the Citadel was nothing compared to what this'll be."_

He never explained how exactly he knew what he knew, but Pallin believed him, and that was enough for Solana. At first she figured he'd been around Commander Shepard for too long—the human had also believed in Reapers, and everybody thought he was just paranoid. It didn't help that the human was rumored to have been sent to prison. Pallin and Garrus took their concerns as high up as the Primarch, but they didn't take much action aside from a consolatory gimmick they called a "task squad." If they had, maybe they would have been more prepared.

Not that any amount of preparation would have been enough for this.

She tried to suppress her regrets as she entered the school. The perimeter of the building had been lined with handmade mines, tripwires, security cameras, and armed guards. The lower levels were barricaded, with militia on the floor level and sick, children and elderly on the upper floors. All of the windows were painted black and barricaded to maintain the appearance that the location was abandoned. Most of their equipment was left over from a previous group of survivors—other evidence of their existence consisted of dark blue splatters on the walls and charred skeletons. Whether they had moved on or been cleared out by Marauders was a mystery.

When she reached the second floor, she found Pallin waiting for her.

"Come with me," he said, taking her arm.

"Is something going on?" She tried asking. Pallin looked around the room at other turians as they passed like they were secretly enemies. "No," he said. "Just want to show you something."

"Then why—"

"Sol, just shut up and trust me, okay?"

She didn't press any further. He led her through trashed classrooms and down a locker hall meant for school staff, until they arrived in an expansive room that was once the teachers' lounge. Several others were there, standing around a desk: Trinia Sorkin, the de facto leader of the group; Granthal Oseerus, and two she didn't know: a human and a turian. Everyone was in full armor.

"I will not accept this," the unknown turian said, clearly outraged. "These people are defenseless! We can't just—"

"We're _all_ defenseless here," Trinia said, her green eyes burning through her helmet. "This little setup we have isn't a defense; it's a delusion."

Granthal, by far the largest turian in the room, kept looking over his shoulder as if someone might be listening. "Keep it down," he said. "We don't want the whole damn building to hear us." Despite his size, Solana and everyone else who knew him knew he was quite timid.

Pallin approached the table, releasing Solana's arm. "She goes," he said.

Every eye in the room turned toward her. Trinia shook her head. "We're quickly running out of room for—"

"Then she can have my seat. She goes, no matter what."

Trinia sighed in defeat. "Fine. As long as it isn't mine, we're good."

"I'm sorry," Solana said, frustrated from the secrecy, "but what the hell is going on?"

Pallin turned back to her. "We received a comm a few minutes ago. A _hastatim_ evacuation shuttle is taking survivors offworld. Their LZ is only a few miles from here."

"A shuttle?" Just that morning, evacuation seemed like a hopeless dream. "Then let's get everyone together and. . ."

Their gazes cut her off.

"There's not enough room for everyone," she said as she figured it out. "Is there?"

Pallin shook his head. "No. And the area has become too compromised for them to make any return trips. This is the only chance we have."

The turian she didn't recognize spoke up again. "And why should it be us who go? Since when are they," he pointed up at the ceiling, "less important or deserving of life?"

"Nobody is saying that," Trinia said. "But we have to keep realistic. Even if we took the time and resources to gather every one of us, sick and unable alike, when we got there most of them would be left behind anyway. Fights will break out over who goes. I saw it happen with the initial evacuations; some shuttles never made it off the ground because of the fighting. And then we could all die."

"We're assuming, of course," said Granthal, "that this isn't a Reaper trap. Even if we get there and find a shuttle waiting for us instead of a horde of Marauders, the turians in that shuttle could still be indoctrinated. For all we know, this place could be the safer option, and the ones leaving will just be going to their deaths."

"But—"

"May I remind you," Trinia said, cutting the stranger off, "that you are only here because Lance foolishly told you about this? If you don't want to go, you may feel free to stay here and open your seat to someone else."

"I agree with him," Solana said. All eyes were back on her. "It isn't right that a few of us should leave the rest to die. We're held up pretty securely here; we can fight off any Marauders that come through, but fewer guns means less defense, right? There are children up there!"

"Sol," Pallin said, approaching. She stepped back. "In any other circumstance, I would be agreeing with you. But we _can not fight these things_. A few Marauders, maybe, but what happens when the full-sized Reapers make it here? Do you think our guns will bring them down when the imperial army couldn't?"

Her rational mind battled with her sense of decency, the pressure of tears starting to form behind her eyes. "Then I won't go," she shook her head. "Give my seat to someone else. I'd rather die than—"

"Absolutely not." Pallin grabbed her face and pulled her close. "I will not lose you, do you hear me? You and your brother are the only things keeping me sane in all of this. And your mother? Do you want me to kneel next to her bed on Sur'Kesh when all of this is over and tell her I left you on Palaven? I love you more than anything, Sol, but I will knock you unconscious and carry you to the shuttle if I have to, and you can hate me for the rest of your life if you want."

Her spirit crumbled within her, but she relented, nodding, too afraid to speak.

"That's six of us," Trinia said. "The comm said five, so let's hope Granthal here can suck in his gut enough to fit. Are you going?" She said, looking to the stranger. _Who is this guy?_

He looked down at the floor for a moment before nodding. Solana saw his hand shaking by his side.

"All right," Trinia said. "Everybody get what you need, but be inconspicuous about it. We can't let the others know we're leaving."

"What'll they do when it's time to shift to our watch?" Solana asked.

"Aldus has it covered. He refused to come with us."

This shocked her too. _I just saw him. Just a few minutes ago._

They dispersed. Solana ignored her father and walked up to the stranger.

"Hey," she said. "We haven't met, have we? I'm Solana."

"Well met, Solana" he said, nodding to her. All she saw of him through his helmet were his dark, deep-set eyes. He left the room without allowing her any further conversation.

"Don't worry about him," the human named Lance said. "He doesn't give his name to anybody. Even I don't know it; I just call him Guy or something."

"What do you know about him?"

"I've, ah, worked with him for a year, but I don't know anything aside from the fact that he's damn good with an assault rifle. My guess is former military, but that would describe pretty much every turian in existence, so. . .er, no offense. He's a good man, though. Saved my life more than once, and plenty of others after the Reapers showed up."

Her father was waiting by the door, gesturing for her to hurry up.

"I guess I'll see you on the other side," Lance said, waving as he left. Solana moved past her father, who thankfully didn't attempt to stop her or justify himself, and went up the stairs to get what she needed. She had her pistol on her hip holster at all times, even when she slept, in addition to her omni-blade, though she wasn't very good at wielding it. In the common room, by the ragged blanket that was now her bed, she kept another pistol, a ceremonial knife, and the makings for a few grenades and basic wire traps, should they ever be huddled in the common room.

A big lump under her blanket stirred when she picked up her things. Emerging from beneath was Tydas, a boy of only ten who'd lost his home and his mother. The child had bonded to her, asking her to teach him how to make bombs and fight the Reapers like the adults, much to his father's dismay.

"Venari Solana?" The boy asked. Hearing his tired voice broke her heart.

"Hey," she said, kneeling down to him. "I told you, I'm not a Venari, remember? My dad is."

"No, but you should be! Can we do wire traps today? I'm still not very good at those."

The boy stood up and looked to her like she alone could defend against the Reaper onslaught. She kept her feelings bottled in, trying to remember what Trinia and her father had said. _We can't save everyone._

"I have to go out today, Tydas," she said. "I have. . .an important mission. Maybe your father can help you out today."

"Aww. I wanna go with you."

_I want to take you, believe me._ Surely they'd have room on the shuttle for one small child? But she couldn't take the boy without telling his father—and then what if he wanted to go? What if he told the others?

She hugged Tydas real close. "I'll teach you tomorrow, okay?" She used the hug as an excuse not to look the boy in the eye. She couldn't.

"Promise?" He said, hugging her tightly with his tiny arms.

"I promise." _Spirits forgive me_. "Now, go see your father. And, hey. . .be good for me, okay? While I'm gone?"

"I will. Watch out for Reapers!"

The boy walked off toward her father's bed, sidestepping other refugees and weapons along the way. Solana left him the wire trap materials on her blanket. It wasn't enough to make her feel better, and it wouldn't be enough for Tydas when she wouldn't be there the next day, but she hoped he'd understand.

When she had what she needed, she made her way toward where her father slept, trying to move as casually as she could. Pallin had two pistols, a shotgun, and an omni-tool, along with a few medigel kits strapped to his armor. Despite clearly having trouble with the weight of it all, he seemed determined to push forward.

"Here," she said, giving him her hand. "I can take the shotgun. Also, let me have one of the medigels."

He handed her the items without argument. When they were ready, they made their way to the stairs. The others waited for them by the entrance, ready to go.

"Where you guys headed?" The guard posted at the front said.

"Supply run," Trinia responded, not stopping. Solana kept her head down. She didn't want anyone to see her face; she felt like a single look from a guard would give their entire group's intentions away.

When they were far enough away from the school, they broke out into a quicker pace.

"There may be Marauders between us," Pallin said. "So stay near me, Sol."  
"You know, I have actually killed a few of them before, dad."

"A few, maybe," Granthal said. "If we come across a whole squad of them. . ."

"Way to be optimistic, Grant," Lance said. While the turians could take their helmets off, Lance had to remain in full armor to prevent radiation sickness. Humans couldn't handle Palaven's proximity to their sun. "Though," he continued, looking back, "I guess optimism is in short supply now."

The stranger didn't say anything, keeping step a few paces away from the rest of the group. His head slowly swiveled back and forth like a security camera, keeping tabs on their whole environment. He seemed focused on everything around them at once. Solana looked around too, tried to see what he saw: cover spots, potential ambush sites, open area. The silver grass beneath their feet had mostly turned a sickened black and died, due to the lack of sunlight.

"How sure are we that the shuttle will still be there?" Granthal asked.

"The comm relay was lost, but we managed to gather that they'll take survivors until dusk or they reach capacity or they get killed, whatever comes first. We don't know who else received the message, so we need to hurry if we're going to make it."

"Um," Lance said, looking around the group. "Hate to point out the pink elephant in the room, but. . .what do we do if they're there, but don't have room for all of us?"

There was a long moment before Trinia answered. "Hopefully that won't be the case."

"Down!" The stranger suddenly said. Everyone immediately obeyed, the stakes far too high to question him. They immediately dropped to their stomachs, their weapons at the ready, forming a makeshift circle around Solana, who was the group healer. The stranger scooted over to them as quickly as he could.

"Movement," he whispered, pointing ahead. "About seventy yards."

"Marauder?" Pallin asked.

"Couldn't tell. Anybody here use a sniper rifle?"

"I _can_," Trinia said, "but that doesn't mean I'm particularly good at it."

"Good enough. Cover me."

Without another word, he rose to a crouch and shuffled forward, assault rifle in hand, while Trinia followed behind with her sniper rifle. Solana watched them move ahead until she couldn't see them anymore. A few terrible silent moments passed, then they reappeared, still crouched.

"Marauders," Trinia said. "Several of them."

"Shit," Granthal said. "Can we go around?"

"It might be better to just kill them and move on," the stranger said. All eyes turned toward him, and for a moment Solana thought he seemed nervous at being the center of attention. "Going around is the safer option, but we only saw four; nothing the six of us can't handle. And we'll lose precious time by going around them anyway."

"I have to agree," said Lance. "Plus, if we go around and they spot us from behind, we'll be the ones who get snuck up on, and then we'll have lost that time for nothing. If we can surprise them, it'll be over in a few minutes. The Marauders are smarter than Husks, but they're still zombie machines; four of them are hardly a threat."

_Which begs the question,_ Solana thought, _why are there only four?_ She had a bad feeling about a direct assault, but she couldn't argue with the need for time.

The six of them mulled it over for a moment, weighing the pros and cons of an assault. Finally, they all decided it would be better to kill them and keep moving. They all rose to a crouch and made their formation: Pallin, the stranger, and Lance at the front with assault rifles, Trinia and Lance providing covering fire with sniper rifle and tech support, and Solana at the rear with medical support and projectile cover.

She saw the Marauders as they approached. Horrifying creatures made of twisted metal and scraps of flesh, they resembled turians only in shape. She had heard from Garrus about the Husks, how they were humans somehow transformed into mindless synthetic monsters—were these Marauders once turians? If so, she realized, they could be someone she once knew: a friend, a brother-in-arms, a relative. . .one of them could potentially be Garrus himself, caught on Menae and converted into a Reaper slave.

She shook her head to focus away from such thoughts. Even thought it had been a long time since they were able to contact him, Garrus was too tough, too _stubborn_ to be killed by Marauders. He would consider it an insult. And if she died. . .

So she focused. There was open ground between them and the Marauders, making an unseen approach next to impossible. Trinia set up her sniper rifle while the rest of them advanced, first crouching, then standing, then a full charge forward.

The first Marauder that looked up at them got hit by a sniper bullet. The other three, alerted to their presence, trained their guns on them with a lifeless clicking noise, their eyes completely void of any emotion or spirit. Whatever they were as turians, they were now shells, nothing but Reaper toys. It was a mercy to kill them.

Forgetting her own role as medic, Solana drew her pistol and fired on one as it aimed for her father. Pallin drew in close with his shotgun and blasted a hole through the Marauder's midsection. A shard of metal flew out and grazed his armor, but he remained uninjured.

Granthal used an attack drone to distract one Marauder as he fired at it with his pistol. Lance and the stranger both fired a continuous onslaught of bullets at the last with their assault rifles. In the end, nothing remained but the six of them as Trinia rejoined the group.

"Anyone injured?" Solana asked.

They all shook their heads. "Let's keep moving," Trinia said, stepping over a Marauder corpse. Its soulless yellow eyes had gone dark forever. Solana hoped their spirits could rest.

They had moved maybe twenty yards when Solana heard the noise. Like giant wings grating against the air itself. They all stopped to look up in the sky. Solana saw it first: descending from the smoke-saturated atmosphere was a beast like nothing she had ever seen. A beast made of twisted metal layered with scraps of flesh.

"Harvester!" She called.

Like the Marauders, the Harvesters were corrupted by the Reapers and turned into air superiority craft. Their presence meant a swarm of ground troops were near.

The beast opened its mouth, revealing two gun turrets that fired on their group. The ground exploded nearby, raining dirt and rocks all around them. They turned and ran, unable to face a Harvester on open ground.

She heard the dropping of bodies behind them, followed by the familiar metallic clicking that haunted her dreams. Gunshots soon followed. Looking back, she saw six—seven, eight, _nine_—Marauders tailing them. She couldn't see the Harvester, but she could hear the flapping of its wings and the inorganic screech it uttered in the atmosphere.

As she focused on the ground in front of her and the gunshots behind her, a sudden iron grip clamped on both of her shoulders and lifted her of her feet. The Harvester's talons dug into her armor; while they didn't extend far enough to penetrate her skin, their grip threatened to crush her shoulders with pressure. The ground receded beneath her as she struggled against the Harvester. Her entire life flashed before her eyes: she saw her mother's face holding her close, her father's expertise with a gun, her brother saying goodbye when she left for boot camp, her first _oserun_, her first lover, everything slipped through her mind in a brief instant.

Then she heard the familiar blast of a sniper rifle, and that woke her from her reverie. The Harvester shook, and she felt herself slide in a lurching movement that brought her heart to her throat. Another shot, and the Harvester released its grip.

She screamed as she fell. The ground, which she quickly realized was closer than it had appeared, rushed up to meet her. She tried landing on loose knees as she had been taught, but when she made impact her left leg took the brunt of the force with a sickening crunch that she somehow experienced with all of her senses at once. There was a flash of blue light accompanied with pain, then her endorphins kicked in and the world slowed down around her. She tried to stand, but her leg wouldn't work properly. Sounds didn't register like she knew they should. Somebody picked her up from behind; looking up, she saw the helmet of the stranger shaking as he ran with her in his arms.

"Where are the others?" She asked, surprised by the calmness in her own voice. Endorphins. Natural drugs.

He must not have heard her, because he kept running, ducking and dodging Marauder gunfire as they went. He nearly dropped her a couple of times, his grip jerking suddenly to right her in his arms. The movement sent a little shock through her leg that reminded her of the condition she was in. His shields shimmered as bullets and debris impacted critical areas of his body.

Her view was limited, but she could see her father stab a Marauder with his omni-blade without stopping his run. He made his way toward them.

"Sol!" He called. "Oh, shit, your leg. . ."

"Bigger problems at hand!" The stranger said. "I'm better with guns," he said to Pallin. "Take her."

He threw her moreso than handed her to her father, who held her over his shoulder as they ran. The position was significantly less comfortable than in the stranger's arms, but she could see the hellish stampede behind them as her father ran for both of their lives:

Dozens of Marauders, helmed by the Harvester, whose erratic flight pattern suggested injured wings. Lance, Trinia and Granthal were farther behind, pelting the horde with gunfire every few minutes to hold them back. Explosions blended with the Marauders' terrifying shrieks every moment.

In a flash, she realized that they were extremely likely to die.

"Dad," she said, "don't let them get us."

"I won't," he replied, his breath heavy. He wouldn't be able to stand much longer, holding her.

"No," she said, keeping her voice as emphatic as possible. "Don't. Let. Them. Get. Us."

He didn't respond that time. Her pistol was still on her hip; if she had to be the one to make sure neither of them ever became one of those things, so be it.

Her father suddenly stopped short, giving the Marauders a few horrifying steps to get closer. "WAIT!" He called out to something ahead. Solana couldn't see from her position.

"What is it?" She said. "Run, dad!"

"The shuttle!" He said. "They see the Marauders. They're going to take off without us! WAIT, damn you!"

He tripped over something and they both went spiraling to the ground, her leg screaming in agony. When she raised her head and her vision cleared, she saw the evac shuttle, its engines revving up for takeoff, a few turians loading into the open doors.

She tried to stand, but her leg wouldn't allow it. _We're so close._

A pair of legs crunched up next to her, and a hand forcefully grabbed her arm to pick her up. It was the stranger again. He carried Solana back in his arms while awkwardly activating his omni-tool. He spoke as loud as he could into the device.

"Hold position!" He said. "We have evacuees, six, one injured."

"Negative," came a reply. "We can't risk the Marauders. You morons led them right to us."

Solana grabbed the stranger's omni-tool and turned her head to speak. "If you try to leave us behind, I swear to all the spirits I will tear your shuttle out of the sky and you can die with us!"

"Threats ain't gonna help you, lady," came the response. Solana turned off the omni-tool herself and pointed a hand at the shuttle.

Before she could warn herself of the stupidity of it, she closed her eyes and allowed the small burst of energy to pour from her fingers. The shuttle rocked in midair slightly, unharmed but definitely impacted. She grabbed the stranger's hand again, avoiding looking at his face.

"Believe me yet?"

"The fuck was that? Crazy bitch!"

"I thought so. Now, room for six more?"

"Damn it."

The shuttle drooped back to a lower level, and the side door opened. They were mere steps away; her, the stranger carrying her, her father, Trinia, Granthal. . ._Where's Lance?_

The turian carrying her tossed her into the shuttle first, where she rolled against metal floor. Her broken leg sang its song of pain again, but she ignored it. The stranger leapt on next, followed by her father, then Trinia, who grabbed onto Granthal. The human figure of Lance was behind, firing a volley of assault rifle shots into the crowd.

"Lance!" The stranger called. "Get in here!"

The human turned and waved, signaling the ship to get off the planet.

"NO!" The stranger shrieked. Pallin grabbed him from behind. "He's buying us time, son."

"Not him!" He kept screaming in protest, resisting her father. "It has to be me! It should be me! Lance! Idiot!"

"We're not waiting any longer," came the voice from the cockpit. Solana recognized it from the omni-tool. She made a mental note not to talk to him.

The doors closed, leaving Lance behind.

"Dad," she said, trying to rise. "I can help him! I can. . ."

"No!" He said, turning to her. He let the stranger go to kneel down and grab her shoulders. "You can't, Solana."

"Yes, I—"

_"No, I said."_

It was too late to argue; the doors closed, and as her father helped her get to a seat, she heard the turian who saved both their lives crying into his hands, mumbling incoherently between sobs. Sitting next to her was a turian staring off into space with a haunted look in his eyes.

"Do you know where we're going?" She asked him.

His head turned slowly toward her. He looked at her like she was something from a work of fiction, then turned his head back into its original position, with no answer.

_Okay then._ As long as it was somewhere away from the Reapers, it didn't really matter. All that mattered anymore was survival.

Pallin stood next to her, holding onto whatever he could grab to keep a foothold. The ship ran a bumpy course. Solana realized that they still weren't safe until they escape the Trebia system. They could still be beset on by Reapers in the atmosphere, if they were unlucky.

She tried not to focus on that.

"Dad," she said, "have you tried contacting Garrus? Let him know we're all right?"

He blinked at her a couple of times, then activated his omni-tool, inputting a few commands to establish a link. There was a crackling static noise. He gave the omni-tool a look. It was worth a try.

"_Dad?_" Came a fuzzy voice on the other end.

"Garrus?" Pallin said, shocked.

_"CKSHCKX—Dad—CXKSKSH—okay? Where are—CKSHXHKC"_

"We're okay, Garrus. Do you hear me? We're evacuating now. Come in. Are you okay?"

_"CKXSCHX—okay—CKSXHS—Sola—CSCHKS"_

"You're sister's all right. Her leg, I think it's broken. Can you hear me?"

The static on the connection fizzled out, leaving them in silence. Pallin shook his arm around to jumpstart the omni-tool, but the connection never returned. With a sigh, he turned it off and slumped onto the ground.

"At least he sounded all right," he said. "Just worried about us. That's good. That's. . ."

His head slumped slightly. Solana moved to catch him, jarring her leg in the process. He jerked back up when she pushed him back with her good foot.

"Dad, you need to rest. Take my seat."

He shook his head. "I'm fine. I'll sleep on the floor or something. Rest your leg."

"Dad." She got up, put her weight all on her good leg, and tried to lift him up. "I need to lie horizontally to rest my leg anyway, and I can't do that on a seat. Get up here."

"Stubborn girl," he said as he sat.

"Where did I get that from. Now rest."

He finally relented, laying his head back on his arm. His eyes fluttered shut, and for the first time in her life Solana realized just how old her father really was. Even the former Executor of C-Sec had a limit.

Over by the door, the stranger hadn't moved, though his helmet was off and he no longer seemed to be crying. His eyes stared out into space at something only he could see, something that appeared to make him furious—though at what, she couldn't tell. She limped to him and touched his shoulder, starting him from his reverie.

"Are you all right?" She asked.

He looked at her with his dark, deep-set eyes. At first she thought he was barefaced, but along the line of his chin and mandibles there were pink scars where facial markings used to be. _They were burned off?_ To have one's markings removed was a deeply personal thing that usually signified an intense regret. Or a crime against Palaven, if it was the police who removed them. She decided not to ask about them.

The stranger looked away from her eyes and nodded.

"I'm. . .sorry about Lance," she said. He nodded again. Part of her told her to leave him in peace, but something about the way he looked at anything but her eyes made her stubborn self insist that she stay and force him into a conversation. So she sat next to him, stretching out her bad leg so that she could at least not put any pressure on it.

"Tell me about him," she said.

He shrugged. "Not much to tell."

"Tell me anyway. I want to know about people who save my and my father's lives."

He was silent for a moment. His neck stretched back and looked up at the ceiling. "I know he had family here. Turians, not humans. Cousins, I think, or something. I think he had a relative that married into a turian family. He was visiting them when the Reapers attacked. Anyway, we met about a year ago, and we. . .decided to work together. He was a good man. Too many good men have died because. . ."

"Because of the Reapers?" She finished.

He snorted. "Yeah. The Reapers."

_He acts like they don't even exist._ "It's not your fault," she said abruptly. His look darted to her with wide eyes, and she thought she might have offended him. "I mean, I'm sorry, but it isn't. It isn't the fault of anyone, except the Reapers. You're a good person, and he had to have known that, doing what he did for you."

His mandibles parted slightly into a sad smile. "He didn't know anything about me, girl. If he did, he would have thrown me at the Marauders and taken his seat where he belongs. It would only be right." He looked away. "You should tend to your father. He looked worn out."

She planted herself in her seat. "He'll be fine. My leg hurts too much anyway."

The stranger jerked again. "Oh, right, your leg. How is it?"

"Definitely broken," she said.

"Here," he said, reaching into his armor and pulling something back out. "You can have my medigel. Not much good for broken bones, but it might be soothing, if nothing else."

She took the little canisters. "Thanks." She looked at them in her hand, at the light blue material inside. "You know, you say you're a bad person, but I have yet to see you do anything bad. You saved my life, now this. I'm the type of person who needs proof."

He chuckled at that. "If you're trying to probe me for information, good luck. Lance tried for a year."

"Like I said, I want to know about people who save my life."

His look turned serious again. "Solana. . .I appreciate the gesture. . .but getting close to me is a proven health risk. So please, just leave me to my secrets. . .and I'll leave you to yours."

She looked down at her hands. _So he __**did**__ see it._ The secret she had kept so well most of her life, even through the invasion, all revealed to a stranger in a single moment. It was almost funny. She clenched her hands into fists.

"At least tell me your name," she said.

He turned away from her.

"You already know my secret," she said, pressing onward. "And that particular one encompasses pretty much all I have to hide. You don't have to tell me everything, like why you burned your markings off, or why you insist on dying in someone else's place. Just your name. That's all I ask."

He kept staring at the wall. Solana decided not to keep pressing him. If he wouldn't talk to her anymore, so be it. The universe would spin on.

"You're very stubborn, aren't you?" He said to the wall. His voice was low, not quite to the point of whispering, but very quiet.

She brushed him off. "You should meet my brother. He's also always trying to die a big hero. He doesn't understand just how important he is, or how much he's loved. . .even though he is a pain in the ass."

His head turned toward her again, the smile returned to his face. She liked his smile. Making this sad person smile seemed like a small victory in galaxy full of defeats. "He's lucky to have you protecting him," he said.

"Heh. He's the one protecting us. He's on Menae. He—" Her voice suddenly choked up, so she cut herself off from that line of discussion. "You still haven't told me your name," she said.

The stranger sighed, looking up. "I was hoping you wouldn't notice." She gave a snicker at that. He looked into her eyes and offered his hand to shake. She took it, meeting his firm grip with her own.

"Lantar," he said. "Lantar Sidonis."

* * *

**Author's Note: **Ooh-hoo, I'm gonna love writing this.


	2. Needing Miracles

**2191 CE — Five Years Later**

**Garrus**

If the multiverse theory was correct, there were other universes—possibly infinite in number—similar to theirs. Which meant that there were possibly an infinite number of Garrus Vakarians, all with their own little personalities, living with the consequences of their own choices. Perhaps some of them were evil, or dead, or something else entirely.

He wondered if they were all having as shitty a day as he was.

The stench of hospital sterilization pervaded his senses. All up and down the ugly beige walls, there were doors—most of them closed, a few open a crack as though not wanting to expose the outside world to too much of the misery within. In another time, he probably would have been the only turian there, but ever since the Reaper War, there wasn't a hospital in existence that wasn't packed with members of every known species. Still, the hospital staff was primarily salarian, which if nothing else meant that the care here would be top-notch. And now, for the first time in his life, he could even afford it.

Not that it helped his mother any.

A pair of familiar feet appeared at the periphery of his vision. Solana put a hand on his shoulder, lifting him up out of his chair in the waiting room. Pallin was there as well, moving up and down in circles and whatever other motions he could to appear busy. Garrus wasn't the only one who hated hospitals.

"You didn't go in?" Solana asked.

He shook his head. "I wanted to wait for you guys. Surprise her with all of us together, you know."

It was a lie; he was afraid, and they all knew it because they all shared the same fear: the fear of going into that room and facing the person within alone. Besides, she wouldn't be surprised—she was the one who asked them all to come.

Doctors and nurses and orderlies and staff with titles he didn't know all passed them by, and every once in a while, one of them would look up from their datapad to glance at his scars, or a small group would get together and whisper while pointing in his direction. He'd gotten used to that._ Should have had them removed,_ he thought for the millionth time. He had grown to like the scars, but if they were corrected then at least he wouldn't be the most recognizable turian in the universe.

Oh well.

Unable to delay the inevitable any longer, the three of them collectively steeled themselves like a unit preparing to charge, drawing on eachother for energy and the support they needed just to take a single step. If any one of them faltered, they all would. They all moved at the same pace, one step at a time, toward the door.

The door whooshed open, exposing them to a gorgeous view through massive windows of the jungle countryside that typified most salarian worlds. Alien bird species flew among the trees below. Bird images were painted onto the windows to keep birds from mistaking the glass for the sky and crashing into them. The sky above was cloudless, and the small-but-bright sun kept the outside at a brisk eighty degrees. Salarian worlds had the best weather, next to turian worlds.

As far as hospital rooms went, this one was the most grandiose of any he had ever seen, reserved for high-profile patients who were admitted for long-term or end-of-life care. It was also extremely expensive, not even counting the doctors and the technology involved; combine that with the fact that salarian medicine was the most expensive (but advanced) in the galaxy and the price was well over several million credits to maintain per year. A part of him felt immensely guilty using this room for his own purposes when there were countless others, rich and poor, who could make immeasurable use for it. But he put that part of him aside to care for his mother.

She had already been prepared for their visit. She had been dressed, groomed, placed in a chair connected to several wires and holographic interfaces, and put facing the window. She had always loved grand natural views. It was another reason why Garrus put her there. The scales on her head had been sheared to an almost perfectly symmetrical sheen, and underneath the antiseptic hospital stench that pervaded every molecule of the building, he could smell a faint trace of soap.

No amount of preparation could change the fact of her situation, however. She remained dressed in a hospital gown, too weak to leave the building, making changing into real clothes pointless. Her neck bent to an almost grotesque angle to her right side, and her right mandible slouched open. A small trail of drool trickled down her jawline to pool at her shoulder. Her body was so emaciated that it was like looking at a living skeleton; the only part of her that separated her from a corpse was her eyes. Unblinking, her dark auburn eyes somehow managed to convey a measure of life that remained inside the mangled body that had given up its own energy long ago.

She was Xenafor Vakarian. She was his mother. He loved her more than anything else in the galaxy. Yet, still: she horrified him.

The machinery around her chair beeped to life and a holographic projection appeared behind her. Before, the projection was just a generic Avina VI that communicated in a typical unwavering happy voice ("I hope you die in a fire," the thing could say in a cheery metallic tone) and was limited to a Galactic vocabulary of only a hundred-thousand or so words. This VI, however, was modeled in the shape of Xenafor before the Corpalis set in, her mandibles tight and her posture straight and strong. The voice had also been programmed to sound as much like the original as possible, but it never quite captured the same energy as the real thing when it spoke, never quite met the same nuance and grace of language as a living organic being. Even EDI and the Geth had more of a soul than the voice of the VI.

Still. It was the best they could do.

"Hello, Pallin," the VI representing his mother said. "Garrus, Solana. I am glad you could come today. Have you talked to the doctor yet?"

Pallin shook his head, taking the moment to speak for all of them.

"Good. I wanted to be the first one to tell you. Find a place to sit, please."

"Tell us what?" Garrus asked, a bad feeling setting on him. He had long-since trained himself to look into his mother's eyes when he spoke to her, rather than the VI's hollow projection of her eyes.

"Garrus," she said, "How is John doing?"

Abrupt change of subject. It was something he was going to hate, and something he would want to put off for as long as possible. "He's doing well," he said. "Wanted me to tell you hi. He's doing some charity thing for orphans from slave raids."

"I heard about that. What was the organization name again?"

"Honestly, between the Shepard Foundation for Orphaned Teens and the Commander Shepard Memorial Orphanage and the Young Shepard Association and the Sheep-Scouts and all the others, I've stopped keeping track. Just pick a charity for orphans and John's probably involved with it somehow, whether he knows about it or not."

"That is funny." Another difference between a VI and the real thing: a VI can't laugh. "Please tell him that I support his work. Solana, how are your studies going? I hope that this visit will not throw you off track."

Solana shook her head. Of the three of them, she was the one most comfortable around Xenafor, mainly because she spent the most time with her when she was sick. "It's going well," she said. "My neurobiotic tech class is a nightmare, but I'll make it. I always do. But. . .why did you call us here, mom?"

Pallin suddenly became very fascinated with the far wall, scratching the back of his neck like it was infested with mites. _He knows already._

Xenafor's chair rolled toward her bed, a standard-sized deal that seemed pitifully small in the penthouse suite of hospital rooms. The VI floated right behind like a ghost that refused to leave its object of torment. "Could you sit down, please?" It said.

Garrus felt like his heels were being slowly filled with lead as he moved to sit. Solana, either oblivious or making a strong face of it, seemed completely ignorant to what was going on. Xenafor turned to face them when they were situated. Their father stood a few feet from the bed, still avoiding eye contact. Whatever was strong enough to make him uncomfortable was something to make Garrus very nervous.

"As you know," Xenafor's VI began, "the Corpalis treatments haven't been going very well."

It was true. Garrus had managed to get her into a high-profile research treatment program before the Reapers arrived, but once the War began, all medical research had come to a screeching halt to deal with billions of incoming patients and refugees. The galaxy had only just begun picking up the pieces left behind.

"Well, no," Solana said, "but the doctors say—"

"Please let me finish first," Xenafor's VI interrupted. "As I said, it isn't going well. Yes, the doctors say I have a good five or ten years in me yet. However, the pain has been getting worse. It is spreading through me, slowly but surely. Research into treatment has come a long way, even with the Reaper War, but there is still no cure in sight. But I have wondered. Even if they do find a cure, what then? I will be without pain, but my nervous system will never recover. I will live another twenty, thirty, a hundred years, but unable to walk, run, or even leave my chair. I will not be able to dress, or bathe, or use the toilet without assistance. I will be unable to hug my children or love my husband. I will be dead and alive at once. Unless they manage to bring dead cells back to life, a miracle in all religions, that will be my fate, and only if they find a cure. I can not live like this. My children. I love you more than life itself. Given the choice, I would go over every single second the exact same way all over again rather than not have the two of you in my life. But I will not live in this state any longer."

Solana gasped. "Mom…?!"

"I have asked the doctors to cease treatment," the VI said with its soulless eyes. "I am ready to die."

* * *

**John**

"And as we commemorate this building to the future of our children, allow me to just say. . ."

_Ah, crap. Which one was this again? Commander Shepard Memorial? No, that was last week. . ._

He was seated at the seat of honor on a table including several other humans. Toolak's atmosphere lay slightly heavy on his lungs, but the air didn't seem to impact Burrhus Forza as he continued his necessary opening speech.

". . .our hope, that Toolak's re-emergence as an economic superpower will coincide with the opening of. . ."

_So that's it._ Toolak was once one of the most profitable human colonies in the System Alliance, churning out billions of credits a day in diamond exports. The planet's diamond-laden mountains were a target of raiders and pirates ever since their discovery, but miners managed to hold them off until batarian raiders attacked, killing thousands. Even though the batarians were all killed, Toolak's economy never recovered, and for nearly thirty years, the planet had been practically deserted.

The orphanage was nothing but a front for the new mining operations. _Always about the credits. Five years, and nothing's changed._ He sighed and looked up at the ceiling. The slight movement triggered a sudden wave of shutter clicks from the crowd, a phenomena he'd grown used to. The next day's news headlines would be speculating why he looked up at that particular moment. Was he praying? Exasperated? Annoyed? And then they'd all move on within an hour and focus on something new.

". . .so now," Forza said, "here to say a few words, it is my great honor to welcome the man who made this miracle possible: Commander Shepard!"

He stood to roaring applause, letting himself enjoy the moment as much as possible. Even if the whole thing was just a political stunt, some kids would at least get something of a home out of it. He shook the hands of everyone at the table and limped to the holographic podium to speak.

"Thank you, Burrhus," he said. "But, as I keep pointing out, I'm not "Commander" Shepard anymore. I'm just Shepard, or John, or, as my husband calls me, Pain in the Neck."

A consolatory giggle trickled through the crowd. Bringing up Garrus made him think of him on his trip to see his mother on Jamone. _I should have gone with him. Hope your day's going better than mine, hun._

* * *

**Solana**

She tried to hold herself together as her own conscience warred in her head, a war given voice by Garrus and Pallin a few feet away.

"I can't believe you support this!" Garrus said, his voice loud enough to fill the gigantic room. "How can you just—just. . ."

"Do you think this is _easy_ for me? That I just shrugged and went 'okay' when your mother told me? I was right where you are now, and I would still do anything to keep it from happening if I could."

"Then don't give up on her so easily! Research into Corpalis stalled during the War, but it's getting back on track now. We just need a little more time!"

"Son, she's made her decision. We are all going to have to accept it."

Through all the bickering, Xenafor remained silent, her immobile body seated facing them the entire time like an ornament. According to Garrus, that was how she always was when he and Pallin fought: just standing there, silently looking on, until a break in the fighting came and she stepped in to finish it.

Solana had never known her mother outside of her condition. As long as she could remember, her mother was confined to a bed or a chair, her disease getting worse and worse each year. She remembered speaking to her many years ago, when she still spoke with her own voice. When Garrus left his job at C-Sec, it fell on her to take care of their mother, going so far as to rely on the kindness of strangers to get her even basic medical care. Xenafor had only been admitted to the first clinical research trials because an anonymous donor had somehow supplied the salarians with Collector tissue.

She understood her mother's reasons. She didn't know if she could live in such a state for her whole life, and the fact that Xenafor had was a testament to her strength—or stubbornness, if nothing else.

But she was her _mother._ How could she just. . .let her go like that? And to accept it like there was nothing wrong?

Garrus turned from his father and knelt by Xenafor's side. "Mom," he said, his voice cracking. Solana suddenly realized that she had never seen him cry in her whole life. "There has to be something more we can do. Please don't give up on me." He held her hand in his.

The VI came to life behind her. "Your father said the exact same thing. Do you know what I said to him?"

Garrus shook his head, whether in denial of her question or of the whole situation.

"I told him that he is a wonderful man, and exceedingly selfish. You take all of the suffering surrounding you, and you inherit it like a birthright, as though all pain was your responsibility to heal and all failure was just an extension of your own. Part of that is culture. But it is also in your blood. I am not giving up on you, Garrus, any more than I am giving up on him, or Solana. I am defeating this disease by not allowing it to rule my life for me. That is the only victory I can expect, short of miracles, and I am taking it."

Garrus shook his head again, then stood up, wiping his eyes. "Then I'll get you another victory," he said. "I'll get you a miracle." He leaned over and kissed Xenafor's head, a human sign of affection he had learned from Shepard. Then he marched toward the door.

"Where are you going?" Solana asked.

Garrus didn't stop as he answered. "To find someone."

* * *

**Garrus**

His vision kept blurring up as he stormed out of the hospital, pushing past anyone who got in his way. The doctors could have been rushing someone to the OR on a gurney and he would have probably shoved them aside.

He always knew that his mother would one day have to die. The fact that she had survived as long as she did was only possible due to state-of-the-art medicine, and that could only go so far before the disease caught up. But he never expected—never prepared for—her to just. . .give up. Give up any hope of happiness or a future, give up on living. He knew he was being selfish, that he should respect her wishes—there wasn't much he could do to stop her anyway—but the thought of his mother losing her very spirit to this was unacceptable to him. It was nothing short of an injustice.

He activated his omni-tool. No gods were going to provide him with the miracle he needed. There were only two people in the galaxy who he knew firsthand could perform miracles.

He called one of them.

* * *

**John**

"Ahh, Commander Shepard," said a familiar voice. Sadly, the brunette human's face wasn't as familiar. "Sorry," the woman said, "_Mister_ Shepard. Wow, that just sounds wrong. It's good to see you again. Incredible speech; you really have a knack for public speaking."

He tried to think of a way around not knowing her name, but came up short. "I'm sorry," he said. "I meet a lot of people. Remind me who you are, again?"

"Oh, Elspeth Murrain," she said, extending her hand.

"Ah, that's right. You were running for a position in the Citadel, right?"

"Zakera Ward city council, yes. Rather bad choice of career path, I suppose, given that there's no Zakera Ward anymore." She made an awkward noise that John supposed was meant to be a laugh.

"Yeah, sorry about blowing up your job. So you do philanthropy work for kids now?"

He watched her enter Political Mode, her hands enunciating her every word as she spoke from a mentally rehearsed script. He knew he'd caught her off-guard; of course she wasn't here for children. Though Murrain seemed more honest than most politicians he'd met, money was still the alter for her golden cow of power, and Toolak was getting ready to put out a lot of money.

". . .so I said to him, 'Mister Mayor, think about _the children_ here.' Because I do always try to think about their best interests; we don't take kids seriously enough, you know—"

He held up a hand to cut her off. Whatever worm had crawled into his stomach was making its way up to his head; he needed to get away from these hypocrites before he vomited. "Excuse me," he said. "Important things."

He left her with a confused expression and tried to find a spot that wasn't crowded. They were outdoors under a massive glass dome that could survive anything short of an FTL impact, but he still had an uneasy feeling building up in his spine. He reached for a gun, but remembered that he didn't have one in his civvies; combined with his limp, he suddenly felt open, vulnerable to any kind of attack.

He closed his eyes and counted to ten, focusing on his breath. _Easy. Remember, don't relive._ The thoughts came unbidden and unwanted, thoughts of destroyed planets and dead squad mates, ruined opportunities and shattered lives. And the choices, so many choices. He tried to face them down and turn focus elsewhere. The chatter of people clattered in his mind like gunfire; the music that played from some off-world asari band echoed the sirens of Earth as Reapers the size of skyscrapers descended on an unprepared populace. His heart rate doubled in the span of seconds, but he continued his breathing. If he were alone, he would put his head between his knees for twenty seconds to calm the attack, but with all these damn people around, making their noise, he would look ridiculous.

Fifty seconds passed before he felt himself come down. The dim light filtered through the dome in the sky suddenly hurt his eyes. All of his energy felt sapped right out of him, dissipated into deep space. His teeth chattered together as if he were freezing; the harder he tried to keep his jaw shut, the worse the chattering became. He decided to find Forza and make his excuse to be on his way.

He had almost figured out what he wanted to say when his omni-tool beeped. The incoming call was from Garrus—only a select few people knew his private number, and fewer still ever actually called. He took a deep breath and answered.

A small hologram of Garrus materialized above his omni-tool. If Garrus had his own set the same way, he would be viewing Shepard the same way.

"John," the image said, skipping the "hellos." It must have been important. "I need. . .why are you so pale?"

Shit, but loving a former C-Sec detective could be hard sometimes. "It's just the light here. Everyone's pale."

"I've been to Toolak and the light there is fine. You had another attack, didn't you?"

He sighed. Lying to him wasn't going to help things, or deter the inevitable lecture. "Yeah, a few minutes ago. But I'm fine."

"Damn it, John, I'm telling you: _you need to see someone_." Post-traumatic stress disorder is a serious—"

"And I'm telling you: I don't have post-traumatic stress disorder. I'm just exhausted from all the traveling and putting up with political bullshit for a greater cause."

"I've been a cop, a soldier, a vigilante and a lover of female turians. I know post-traumatic stress when I see it and I also know that it doesn't go away without help."

"You've never been to Toolak, you lying bastard."

"No, but I caught you in your lie, didn't I?"

"Are you ever going to get to why you called?"

The Garrus hologram sighed, rubbing its head. "It's. . .I don't want to talk about it on the phone like this."

"Is your mom okay?"

"Yes and no. Do you think you can slip out of your function early to meet me?"

"God, yes. Where do you want to meet?"

"Illium."

_Why there?_ Illium was hardly a pleasant place for either one of them. The surface was beautiful, but within, the asari corporate world was as corrupt and lawless as Omega. Not to mention the many times they had been shot at there. "Okay," he said, feeling it wise not to ask about Garrus' intentions yet. "When?"

"As soon as you can. On the way, see if you can find anything about someone for me."

"Sure. Who's the guy?"

"Girl, actually. I need to find Miranda Lawson."


End file.
